


You

by OnlyKnownAsC



Series: You & I [1]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Inspired by Music, Short Story, This was inspired by InLoveWithAGhost's music, You is the actual name of the character, enjoy, not the reader's perspective, the character has you/your pronouns, this was practice to write something descriptive based off of music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 10:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16952205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyKnownAsC/pseuds/OnlyKnownAsC
Summary: The piano is clearer now, playing a calming, simple tune. You listen as you watch her, the brown-haired girl with the white tee shirt and round glasses.The girl who you would like to talk to one day, but know you cannot.Alt Title: whispers of a distant possibility





	You

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song entitled "we never met, but can we have coffee or something?" by InLoveWithAGhost

Blue. Green. Pink. Yellow. The sky, and the flowers scattered across the grass that you are sitting on. Faint piano music from the café across the street, and in the window of the café is the girl who you would like to talk to one day. Medium length brown hair, some falling over her shoulder as she adjusts her round glasses and writes on a paper, a laptop open in front of her. Her guitar bag is propped up against the window, patiently waiting for it to be opened. Your feathery, pale pink hair blows about you lightly due to the soft breeze. The piano is clearer now, playing a calming, simple tune. You listen as you watch her, the brown-haired girl with the white tee shirt and round glasses. Her pale blue jeans are rolled up at the ends, allowing her white converse to be seen easier. They must be new, as they are entirely white, rather than dirtied by continuous use. You wish you could get up the courage to talk to her, but you cannot. Instead you sit in the park across from the café with the bluebirds and the flowers, watching bicyclists ride past every few moments. The brick-paved street was too small for cars, as wide as an average sidewalk. The girl seems to work hard, you have noticed. Rarely did she ever finish her cup of whichever drink she got. A milk-based tea you imagined, or a latte. You weren't sure which would fit her personality better. Either way, she always was focused so much so on her paper that she tended to forget about it. You wish you knew what color her eyes were. You never got close enough to see, since you always preferred to stay by the park. The wind picks up slightly, distracting you from your thoughts. The bluebirds seemed to have gone their own way now, leaving you on your own. The pianist has found yet another sweet tune, mainly in a higher key. You let out a sigh, watching another long breath float away in the wind. Turning your attention back to the girl, you notice she appears to have struck up a conversation with someone on the phone. She twists a lock of hair around her finger with the other hand, her demeanor that of someone shy or hesitant to reply. However, she seems to be nearly finished with the conversation, as she hangs up and returns to her work. You stand up, the wind yet again calming down into a faint breeze, gently brushing past you as if on its way to somewhere it would like to be. Blinking stray hairs from your eyes, you hesitantly take a step closer to the café and the park's end. You are not that close to the edge of the park, only about a yard away. You close your pale eyes for a moment, simply feeling the breeze blow about you. When you open your eyes again, you find the brown-haired girl walking outside the café with a blue backpack slung over her shoulder. As expected, she left the unfinished cup on the table inside yet again. As she turns to head down the street, you cannot help but find yourself running after her, the grass slipping through your bare feet. She is only a few paces ahead of you, but it is still difficult to catch up to her. Her guitar bag is in hand, and she walks quickly with her head tilted downwards, as if she is counting her steps. She seems to be getting farther away, and you suddenly realize you are running in place, at the edge of the park's green grass. You slow down and come to a stop, watching her continue off into the distance, further and further from you. Soon enough, you cannot see her anymore, and you sit at the edge of the grass, discouraged. You feel something cold slowly trace a path down your face, on one side, then the other. Teardrops fall into the cupped hands in your lap, slow at first, then coming faster. A small puddle forms in your hands after a while. When the cool, small streams finally slow to a stop, you gently lift the pale, silvery blue liquid and let it spill onto the grass, where yet another pink flower blooms. Smiling faintly, you look up at the street stretching on further and further, and close your eyes, allowing the breeze to blow you into a cloud of pale pink butterflies...


End file.
